Hello All!   
      
   The Surprising Appeal of a Cloudy Eclipse        
      
   This is a personal eye-witness account of the Nov. 14th solar eclipse by   
   Science@NASA production editor Tony Phillips.   
      
   Nov. 23, 2012:  Astrophysicist and legendary eclipse chaser Fred Espenak has a   
   rating scheme for natural wonders.  "On a scale of 1 to 10," he says, "total   
   eclipses are a million."   
      
   Apparently, this is true even when the eclipse is almost completely clouded   
   out.    
      
   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hn5nKlMY5cI   
      
   The total eclipse of Nov. 14, 2012, seen through clouds over Yorkeys Beach in   
   Queensland, Australia. Credit and copyright: Stephen Mudge Last week, I   
   experienced such an eclipse on Four Mile Beach outside the resort town of Port   
   Douglas in Queensland, Australia. For years, tourists, astronomers and eclipse   
   chasers had been anticipating a fantastic show over the Coral Sea on Nov. 14,   
   2012.  Just after daybreak, the Moon would pass directly in front of the   
   low-hanging sun, producing a total eclipse in plain view of many resort towns   
   along the coast.  More than a hundred thousand people (me and my family   
   included) converged to witness the event.    
      
   The night before the eclipse was crystal clear, with all of the stars of the   
   southern sky twinkling brightly overhead.  As dawn broke, however, there were   
   clouds on the horizon, and by 6:30 am local time, less than 10 minutes before   
   totality, thousands of people on the beach watched in dismay as a patchy bank   
   of fluffy white clouds rolled right in front of the sun.   
      
   That's when I learned that even a cloudy eclipse is off the scale.   
      
   Even as we were urgently wishing the clouds away, I realized their benefit:   
   Clouds act as a natural filter. The partially-eclipsed sun burned an auburn   
   crescent through the gray fluff overhead. Onlookers unwisely but irresistibly   
   took off their eclipse glasses for the kind of direct view that would have   
   been impossible under clear skies. It was mesmerizing.   
      
   At that point, only one thing could tear our eyes off the sky: The arrival of   
   the Moon's shadow.  We felt it before we saw it.  Even at 6:30 in the morning,   
   the beach was hot and humid.  Suddenly, we were enveloped by an unexpected   
   chill.  We looked around to see the landscape rapidly darkening. Tropical   
   birds that had been flitting noisily back and forth in the canopy of nearby   
   trees paused, and an otherworldly silence descended on the beach.    
      
   http://science.nasa.gov/media/medialibrary/2012/11/23/totality_strip2.jpg   
      
   http://science.nasa.gov/science-news/science-at-nasa/2012/23nov_cloudyeclipse/   
      
   The eclipsed sun beams through clouds over Queensland Australia on Nov. 14,   
   2012. Note the crescent shape of the internal reflection just above the   
   photographer's right elbow. Photo credit: Tony Phillips    
   The operative word is "otherworldly."  The Moon's shadow lances more than a   
   quarter million miles across the dark vacuum of space, and when it lands on a   
   beach in Australia, it seems to bring a bit of the silent cold with it.   
   Something undeniably cosmic was in the air.    
      
   At that moment, with the tide surging around our feet, the clouds parted to   
   reveal the Moon and sun in almost perfect alignment.  Through a tiny gap, we   
   watched the thin, bright crescent narrow and vanish.  The solar corona popped   
   out around the black lunar disk, just like the centerfold of an astronomy   
   textbook.   
      
   I turned to my daughter, 16 year old Amelia, and involuntarily cried out in a   
   loud voice, "Oh my God, look!" (As if she wasn't already.)    
      
   The beach erupted in cries of delight for ... one-one thousand, two-one   
   thousand, three one-thousand ... a long count of three, and then the clouds   
   closed again.  The eclipse vanished.    
      
   Totality was supposed to last two minutes, and we had only seen three seconds   
   of it. Remarkably, no one seemed to mind.  Along the Four Mile Beach,   
   thousands of people stood in the cool center of the Moon's shadow, wrapped in   
   lunar darkness, staring mesmerized at the cloudy spot where the eclipse was   
   playing out behind a puffy gray veil of water droplets. One brief glimpse of   
   the sun's corona had sent an electric jolt through the crowd, and we were   
   frozen to the spot.   
      
   One minute and 57 seconds later (an interval that seemed much shorter) the   
   Moon slid off the solar disk.  The clouds abruptly blossomed with light. It   
   looked like an explosion had taken place in the atmosphere not far above our   
   heads. Iridescent colors appeared around the edge of the clouds as water   
   droplets diffracted the rays of surging light.   
      
   I'm pretty sure that no one on the beach was disappointed.   
      
   As totality ended, the dark core of the moon's shadow swept off the beach,   
   kicking off a fast 9000 mile journey across the uninhabited south Pacific.   
   Birds started singing again as we rubbed our arms to hasten away the departing   
   cold.    
      
   http://science.nasa.gov/media/medialibrary/2012/11/23/glasses_med.jpg   
      
   "Watch out for that tree!" (Running a marathon through the rain forest while   
   wearing eclipse glasses.) There was only one last thing to do: Run a marathon.   
      
   For the first time ever, runners had organized a 26.2 mile race with an   
   eclipse as its starting gun.  The end of totality was our signal to assemble   
   at the starting line and high-tail it through the verdant forests and cane   
   fields of northeast Queensland.  My running partner was NASA's rubber chicken   
   Camilla, who would complete the marathon in support of the space agency's   
   "Train Like an Astronaut" program, the first rubber chicken to accomplish such   
   a feat.   
      
   The partial eclipse was still underway as hundreds of runners flooded through   
   the starting gate, so most of the athletes still had their eclipse glasses   
   with them. As the clouds dispersed, we could look up and see the sun reshape   
   itself from a thin sliver to a fat crescent, and ultimately a complete circle   
   again. Experienced runners are accustomed to seeing empty packets of energy   
   gels littering the path of long races.  In this marathon, the path was lined   
   instead with discarded eclipse glasses.   
      
   Before long, the sky was completely clear and the hot Australian sun beamed   
   down on the runners.  Temperatures climbed to nearly 90 degrees, and the   
   Queensland humidity pushed the Heat Index close to 100 F.  We were definitely   
   missing our clouds!  To combat the heat, I remembered the feel of the Moon's   
   cool shadow and in my mind replayed over and over again the three seconds of   
   totality I had witnessed--a mental movie that was still playing when Camilla   
   and I crossed the finish line more than 4 hours later.  Even now, I can't   
   quite get it out of my mind.   
      
   Maybe a million is an underestimate, after all.    
      
      
   Author: Dr. Tony Phillips| Production editor: Dr. Tony Phillips | Credit:   
   Science@NASA   
      
   More Information    
   NASA's Solar Eclipse Home Page   
   Train Like an Astronaut -- a fitness program from NASA    
      
   NASA's Cure for a Common Phobia -- learn more about the rubber chicken that   
   ran the Solar Eclipse Marathon    
      
   Camilla the Rubber Chicken on Facebook, Google+, and Twitter   
       
      
      
   Regards,   
      
   Roger    
   --- timEd/386 1.10.y2k+   
    * Origin: NCS BBS - Houma, LoUiSiAna - (1:3828/7)